Every day and night I'm gon' chase you
The Storage Room never failed to scare me.
Back when I was little (and quite frankly even in the present time), whenever any kid pulled any mischief that ended up being discovered, all fingers pointed at me, no matter who actually did it. And our former matron was an impatient, short-tempered, ruthless old woman who'd lock anyone who pissed her off in the Storage Room, and let them be there till the time some janitor happened to unlock the door. Or maybe she would just forget about it all. The other children would appal me further by speaking of all the rats and lizards and roaches and spiders that resided in there, and to top it all, the light switch was very conveniently situated on the wall right next to the door outside the room. Even if the matron didn't turn it off after having locked me in, the other kids definitely did. After she went away and a new, more merciful lady came, I thought that I'd never have to encounter that dreaded place again.
Needless to say, I was wrong.
After Im Changkyun left me there in that alley last night, I made for the subway and headed to the orphanage. The remaining night was a blur, a struggle to fight disturbing thoughts and get some sleep. Of course, I couldn't get any. My brain was as if in a sort of chaos all throughout, different trains of thoughts colliding with each other before any of them could reach a conclusion.
When the birds started chirping, I just gave up and got out of bed and began roaming around the hallways in an attempt to clear my mind. Didn't do much help, though. I was still lost in my head, not paying attention to where my feet were taking me, when I felt a sudden tug on my pajama pants. Immediately, my hand went to my thigh, fisting the fabric before it could slip down too much.
I absolutely despised the five-year-old kid who was standing down there. Doubtlessly the most horrid one I had in my life, but yet all the staff's beloved little girl. She was glaring up at me shamelessly, a pout on her lips.
"What're you doing here?" I snapped, a scowl contorting my face. "Go to your dorm room."
Kim Minjeong crossed her chubby arms and answered back in that irritating, high-pitched voice of hers. "No!"
Attitude.
"What do you want?" I barked.
The girl just stuck her tongue out at me.
My scowl intensified before I did the same to her.
Bad move.
Because the moment I did, her face did that. That thing it does whenever she's about to burst into weeps, and boy she weeps loud.
"H-hey, listen-"
I outright panicked when she began to howl, her noisy wails unleashing into the silence of the morning like a dam releasing raging river waters.
"Hey, calm down, calm-"
When she hiked up the deci Bels, I just gave up and frantically looked around for somewhere to hide. Someone would be here soon, and if they saw me anywhere around Minjeong, I'd definitely get blamed for making her cry and hence waking everyone from their peaceful sleep. Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest doorknob and hurried inside before slamming the door shut.
It took me a few seconds of the complete darkness to realise where I was.
The Storage Room, of course.
My breath halted as all the bad memories struck all together, the childish but scarily real fears, the other kids' scornful laughs, my own younger self's sobs and whimpers and even desperate bawling, even the nightmares and the dread of going to sleep that I'd developed because of them.
It was all terrible, so terrible.
I wanted to get out of there. But by the time I gained my senses, I could already hear the voice of one of the staff outside.
"Dear, what is it?! What is it?!"
My heart pulsated hard with trepidation. I exhaled slowly and silently, hoping with all I had that Minjeong had been busy enough crying to not realise where I'd gone.
Her wails reduced to sobs, but she didn't say anything, fortunately. I heard some shuffling, and then the staff member cooing reassurances as the sounds altogether faded into distance.
Once I was sure enough, a relieved sigh left me. My gaze wandered around, though there wasn't much to behold; almost pitch blackness. I gulped, searching for the door handle. Some light poured in as I twisted and pulled it open, illuminating the room a bit, and for some reason, I looked behind before stepping outside. It didn't look as scary as it used to feel back then, but the fright had been so real. My lips pressed together as I was about to turn and leave, but something caught my eye at the end moment.
A stack of newspapers.
Old newspapers, to be exact, but the ones on the top were still recent. Something about one of the barely perceptible smaller headlines on the front page of the topmost paper drew me in. I found myself squinting, and- to my own surprise- even drifting toward it, into the dusky room, as everything else that was in my mind just a moment ago began to dissolve gradually, and one of the many trains of thoughts that was roaming around my mind last night- but couldn't find a destination- began to resurface.
I lifted the paper, narrowing my eyes further to make out the print.
Blood Season returns: Hike in teen homicide cases is back, yet again
Another Seoul outbreak follows the wave in Gwangju, minor surges observed in 7 other smaller cities and towns
Out of nowhere, it started to feel as if whatever sense the situation had seemed to make so far, a major chunk of whatever little information I'd acquired and processed, pieced together like jigsaw puzzle till now, had began to disintegrate insuperably.
Just to be sure, I checked the date; as expected, the newspaper was just two days old.
Of course, I thought as the jigsaw pieces became all scattered and nonsensical again. Jeongyeon told me so. Changkyun told me so. The Blood Season is back. . . .
Why didn't this occur to me before?
If I'm the executor, the slayer, and I haven't killed anyone yet, how has the Blood Season already begun?
—
"Yo, what happened to your eyes?" I asked with a concerned frown.
Jeongyeon rubbed them as she approached me. "Couldn't sleep last night."
My mind went back to our conversation yesterday. It was hard to make her cave in, but in the end she agreed to not stop meeting up on the condition that we'd keep everything limited to eleven o'clock.
I crossed my arms. "I couldn't, either. I still don't look as hideous as you do."
She threw a dirty look my way, but averted her gaze almost immediately, slipping her hands into the pockets of her blazer. "It's nothing."
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" I placed my arm across her shoulders gently, directing us toward the stairs.
Her eyes went downcast before she replied in a low voice. "No."
I blinked at her incredulously. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I can't." She loured. "I won't."
My frown deepened. It was almost obvious that she'd been crying. "Why?"
Jeongyeon hesitated. "You'll . . . urgh, nothing." She rubbed her eyelids again. "Let it go."
"No, what is it?" I pressed on. "I'll what?"
It was unusual. She'd always tell me everything, right? What was stopping her now?
Is it about . . . him?
"You'll . . ." A scowl distorted her face. "Well, you'll laugh at me."
Maybe not about him.
"Why would I laugh at you?" I said, tilting my head to the side.
Her lower lip protruded in a sulky pout. "Okay, fine. Promise you won't laugh and I'll tell you."
"I won't laugh," I spoke without thinking twice.
"Well, I . . ." She scrunched up her nose.
". . . cried your eyes out, I can see," I told her. "Why?"
She shot another mild glare at me, but sighed a moment later. "I . . . read an angsty Wattpad fanfiction last night."
It took me an entire second to process that. "So?"
"So it made me cry!" she bawled, eyes wide. "I'm just a teenager!"
"Damn, it made you cry that much?" I grimaced vaguely.
"Yuh-huh!" she stressed. "I mean, can you imagine a seven-year-old child-"
"Nah, I can't imagine," I interrupted her. I didn't want to hear it and add on even slightly to the already persistent mental ache.
"You're so mean," she grumbled. "You never listen to the fanfictions I read."
"Hey, it's not like I-"
I paused since we had to pass the turnstiles. Once we were done and on our way out the station and to school, I began again.
"It's not like I never listen," I insisted.
"Yeah, if zoning out everytime I start talking about it means listening, then yes, you always listen."
"I do listen!" I protested, though I knew that my side of the argument was weak. "I was listening to that romance thingy you were narrating a few days back!"
"Taehyung," she deadpanned, "I don't even read romance."
"Uh. . . ."
The helpless, open-mouthed, dumbfounded, 'oh shit dead-end' look on my face must've been ludicrous, because Jeongyeon burst out laughing just that moment.
Even I couldn't help the small, sheepish smile that lifted the corners of my lips. "Okay but I swear, I do listen sometimes!"
She rolled her eyes. "Sure."
"Hey, I do!"
"Okay, I believe you! Relax!" she exclaimed.
I huffed, taking her arm and placing it across my shoulders before resting mine on hers again. I was always careful, always soft with such movements and touches. Wouldn't want to accidentally hit some bruise or some other injury, would I?
"Though romance reminds me," I said, shoving the thought away, "you're kind of pretty."
She gave me that look again - when she tries to lift an eyebrow. "Where is this going?"
"How about you get a boyfriend?"
Her gaze turned sceptical. "How about you get a girlfriend?"
I scoffed. "That's out of question."
"And why is that?"
"Name one girl from school who you think would want to even be seen around me," I said wryly. She opened her mouth to say something before I added, "Except you."
"Well, first of all, it doesn't have to be someone from school, does it?" she remarked.
"Still out of question," I told her.
"I wasn't done yet."
"Go on," I said.
"Second of all, there is this girl from Year One who I think keeps staring at you," Jeongyeon said. "I think she's too shy to approach you."
"I know, there's this one girl from our grade who stares at me too, but they still wouldn't want to be seen with me," I responded. "They'll start getting harrassed too, wouldn't they?"
"Well, what am I here for? That's where I-"
"Nooo!" I denied immediately. "You're half the reason why no girl approaches me! You scare everyone away!"
"Really?" she asked in an apologetic tone.
"Yeah. . . ." I mumbled. "But it's okay, I wasn't talking about me, anyway. I was talking about you."
She frowned a bit. "Why do you want me to have a boyfriend all of a sudden?"
The question took me by surprise. Why did I want her to have a boyfriend? Wait, did I even want her to? I didn't know. I was just trying to make conversation to distract myself from negative thoughts, and this was the first thing that came to my mind.
"It's . . . up to you, I mean," I said slowly. "It would be nice if you had one."
Or would it?
Wouldn't I just be left as a third wheel if that happened?
"Actually . . ." Jeongyeon began, her eyes looking into distance. "You know what, it's not a bad idea at all."
My mouth fell open. I instantly regretted bringing it up in the first place. "Y-you will?"
She didn't answer for a moment, and my mood dropped as the thought of Jeongyeon's attention being divided between me and someone else started creeping into my brain. But it was her choice, right? I couldn't force her not to. . . .
"But nah, let it go," she said gloomily. "It's better if I . . . if we stay away from innocent people."
Her statement made my mood drop further, making it hard to feel any relief. We couldn't even associate with someone without putting them in danger anymore, all because of these disgusting criminals.
"I've read my fair share of Mafia fanfictions to know that," Jeongyeon continued in a dull voice. "I mean, take iljin by adiase, for example. If Xiao Zhan wasn't friends with Wang Yilin, he wouldn't have ended up with a bullet in his chest!"
I winced at the last few words.
"But you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" she added.
"Well . . ." I scrunched up my face apologetically.
"And you say you listen. I told you that iljin is so interesting, and yet you didn't listen," she muttered. "I swear, this rotten world is full of liars."
—
That night, I searched around Onsu-dong, the place of residence.
Roaming around the alleys, I was certain that Changkyun was watching from somewhere. I wanted to ask him about the Blood Season, about how it had already begun in Seoul; he'd surely know. But how was I supposed to make him appear? I think the last time he'd just shown himself to tell me why he thought Taeyong set us free. Was he going to turn up this time?
After about an hour of skulking through the streets and alleys, looking for the boy in the picture, and waiting for Changkyun to make a jump scare, I gave up and finally decided to call for him. Stupid, I knew, but I needed to know about the Season from him, and I was going to have to head home soon.
I made my way to a corner and glanced around, even behind myself, even though my back was just a feet away from the walls. Not a single soul in sight. A sigh left my mouth in the form of a wisp of white air. I folded my arms across my chest in a feeble attempt to hide my nervousness before calling.
"Ch-changkyun," I stuttered lowly, and felt like an idiot while doing so. He'd barely hear me like that.
"Changkyun," I repeated, a bit louder this time, and shifted my eyes around the place once again. No movement. "I want to ask something."
Nothing happened. Was he even here?
Suddenly, I remembered what he'd told me to call him. But could he really be that petty?
"Changkyun-nim."
Nothing.
By now, I was pretty sure that he was ignoring me on purpose. I pressed my lips together in annoyance before scanning the surroundings one last time. If he didn't want to show up, there was no way I could make him.
And hence that night, I came across neither Im Changkyun, nor the boy in the photo.
The next night, I went to Seorim-dong again, but yet, no progress. I started wondering if I was doing it wrong. Was the pattern not right? Should I just focus on one place? Or was it the time? Should I search during the day instead? Did that boy even exist?
At some point, the idea of just sitting and doing nothing started taking root in my mind. But I discarded it immediately. Not doing anything was a death wish, I knew that. Even if I wasn't doing it genuinely, I had to at least make it look like I was trying.
Everytime I saw any human being passing by, I would fish out the picture from my school bag and look at the boy's face, even though I'd already unintentionally memorised it, and see if it matched the person. But of course, it never did.
Till the fourth night.
I went to Onsu-dong again this time. The way seemed to be a bit familiar, owing to the facts that I'd already been here once, and that it was a small neighbourhood. Not for the first time, I faced a trivial inner conflict while wandering through the alleys as to whether or not I should keep my hood up. If I didn't, there were chances of me getting identified if something went wrong. And if I did, I would just look suspicious in general.
In the end, I just kept it on. My ears were feeling cold anyway.
Being so damn alert for about one and a half hours straight was so exhausting. For a moment, I began to wonder if the time I spent on this was too little. There were better chances if I searched longer, right? But I couldn't do it, not past twelve-thirty, tops. Subways- my only way back to the orphanage- closed down at one.
I heaved a sigh as my eyes went downcast. It would've been much easier if I was already of age, but I probably would've been homeless. I'd given up on looking for more jobs, but I hadn't told that to Jeongyeon. She would worry unnecessarily. Mr. Jung was a nice man. The pay was reasonable too, but still, I wasn't sure if it, along with the money I would get from the state once I turned nineteen, would be enough to get me someplace to live.
I realised my gaze was fixed at my walking, aching legs. My muscles ached quite a bit nowadays, a consequence of taking up dance after a forever of physical inactivity.
Suddenly, the fact that I was lost in my thoughts and not alert struck me, but by the time it did, something had already happened.
My heart jumped into my throat when I felt the impact on the right side of my front. It wasn't hostile in any way, but for some reason, it took me by surprise. I looked up immediately, and-
And then I froze.
The boy was visibly startled at first, but then a vague frown took shape on his face. "Watch your way, dude."
And with that, he simply left.
Not knowing that it wasn't the first time I was seeing his face. Not knowing that I wasn't just a random passerby, that I was here looking specifically for him, that I would be tailing him now.
Not knowing that I was supposed to end his life.
I didn't even need to look at the picture to make sure. My body moved on its own, and before I knew it, I was stalking him.
I needed to be extra careful, because he'd seen my face; my hood had fallen back when we'd collided. He didn't seem to be suspicious of me, but if he saw me again, and that too around the same locality, he would definitely find me fishy. My steps were as silent as ever as I followed him, waiting for him to turn a corner everytime before I stepped into the next alley. Breathing through my mouth, I could hear my heartbeat ringing in my ears. At some point, I thought I lost him, but luckily, after navigating a bit by myself, I found him again. I didn't even know what I was doing or why, but one thing was clear to me- I wasn't going to touch a single hair on this boy until and unless someone made me do it at gunpoint. I first needed to know why Changkyun- or maybe the entire organisation he came from- wanted this one boy dead.
The way was absolutely deserted - it was past midnight, after all. This guy was in his mid-teens, I think. The glimpses I was able to take of his back were enough for me to notice the droop of his shoulders, the dejected way he carried himself, all in all the misery he gave off. It was all . . . familiar, in an odd way, but I had no idea why. I just shadowed him till he left the alley he was following, entered a street, crossed it and went into an apartment building on the other side, taking furtive glances around the place as he did.
That was it. That was where this boy lived. Or at least, it was safe to assume he did. I turned about and gazed at the path I came from. I remembered the way here too. In any case, this was a big discovery, and I couldn't believe I'd made it. Just to make sure, I quickly fumbled my almost empty school bag off my shoulders and unzipped it before clumsily drawing out the photo.
Yes, it's him.
I'd found him. I knew exactly where he lived. I didn't know what I would do now, but at least I completed the first step. Now I would probably confront him without violence, or maybe try and ask the wolf guy for a reason, at least. I knew about the Blood Season being a ritual and all, but it couldn't be just some random teenagers they'd pick out to be killed. There had to be something, something this boy- and every other unlucky teen who'd died in a Blood Season- had done or maybe seen. I just needed to know why. Why was he and every other victim of the Season wanted dead by this organisation in the first place?
My school bag was still in my grasp, and the photograph held between my thumb and forefinger, when an indirect answer to my question came lunging directly at me.
I sensed it a split second before it actually happened, but the reaction time was too little. The next thing I was aware of was the sharp pain of the impact of being rammed onto the rough ground that my back had borne. When I got my bearings enough to process what I was seeing, the grimace on my face dissolved instantly to be replaced by a wide-eyed countenance of sheer, utter horror. The tip of the blade was high up in the air, and pointing at me.
And the moment it was plunged down, something went off.
Something got unleashed.
It was as if every last thing was erased from my consciousness. The time, the place, the pain in my back, my own identity, conscience, my being. Everything gone, only instinct, the desire to survive, left behind.
But even so, I was only prey. No matter what, I couldn't overpower the predator.
I could only let the adrenaline take control.
My arms flew up by reflex, and my hands landed up blocking the strike, one at the person's left forearm and the other at their right wrist. The force with which the weapon was being pushed down was immense. It took the energy of my entire body- and mind- to keep the blade from sinking right into my forehead. I knew that changing my position even slightly could shift the strength in my body, so I didn't dare move a muscle - not even my eyes. They were fixed at the point of the knife, which was mere inches away from my skull.
It was too much. When my arms began to shake with the exertion, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it back much longer.
So when he finally overwhelmed my effort and the blade came down ripping through the air, my head jerked itself to the side- I couldn't even figure out whether the movement was voluntary or not- and the tip pierced through the fabric of my hood instead of my brain.
My insides did a somersault.
I felt his arms being wrested from my grip as I swiftly moved my eyes to look at him again, and I barely had the time to register that it was a boy around my age who was on his knees over me when the knife was up in the air again, but before it could make another downward journey, instinct kicked in once more. My left leg made a jolt, and my knee jarred the back of his right thigh, throwing him off balance. The boy lurched forward, and I didn't miss the chance to shove him off myself toward the left with all the might I could muster up.
Finally free to move, I lifted myself and backed away in a flash, scrambling with my haunches dragging against the decrepit asphalt. My assailant was down too, and to my surprise, the look on his face wasn't antagonistic. In fact, he appeared to be- more or less- mirroring my expression, what with his shocked, wide eyes and half-open mouth.
But then, his gaze shifted.
Shifted, I realised when mine followed his, to the sharp implement on the ground- it was an everyday kitchen knife, really- which was nearer to him.
I need to get there first.
That was my first thought. Whether I felt the need to get the knife to make sure he didn't harm me, or to use it to harm him myself, I didn't know. But it didn't even matter, because the boy was closer and quicker. Before I could even move to save my life, he was already grabbing the knife and on his feet and charging at me.
Raw terror seized me, violently wrapping its fingers around my very soul. For a millisecond, I found myself waiting for some instinct or spontaneity to come to my rescue once again, but the adrenaline rush had begun to wear off since I'd pushed the boy off me. My body gave no automatic reaction, leaving me exposed and defenseless as death itself came barreling.
My heart leaping up to my mouth was the last fathomable thing I registered before everything unfathomable happened.
When the boy was about to make the pounce, my extremely frantic mind pulled some bullshit. Reflex action invaded at the same time, and the response my body finally made was mixed, confused.
But somehow, strong.
A half-attempt to back away, fisting up of hands in the anticipation of the pain, head flinching away, and arms whipping up in front of myself as an indecisive move to protect.
All these actions were fast as lightning, and blurred in time. I could hardly tell which happened first and which happened last.
But what happened next, was infinitely more bewildering.
My eyes had clenched themselves shut, so it was only my other four senses that were perceiving everything that ensued my movements. Something scuffed against my foot, I was sure that was the first thing I felt.
And after that.
The sudden load on my right fist.
Along with the vague realisation that something thin and cylindrical was clasped in it.
The sound of metal hitting the aged blacktop.
And the agonized howl.
Before I could even open my eyes to find out what the actual heck had happened, I felt further weight dropping down on me, which made me fall back more. My left elbow collided with the ground, providing support to my body as well as the mass on it.
And then I became aware of a hair-raising sensation.
Warm liquid trickled down the outward side of my palm.
A chill ran up my spine as it slithered against my skin like an ominous serpent. And the moment I turned my head to look.
Skydiving, ziplining, bungee jumping - my stomach did all sorts of crazy things all at once.
I instantly threw the boy's body off myself a second time and darted away, my rear still on the asphalt, till my back met a wall. Pure, immeasurable dread was coursing through me, making my heart race faster than ever, as I beholded with wide eyes a sight that was probably going to haunt me forever.
The boy was flat on the ground, with blood pooling up beneath his head from his eye, which was stabbed into by a pencil that must've rolled out of my school bag earlier when I was hurled down to my back.
I . . .
It was in about four inches deep, and he was bleeding profusely. The wound was mortal, there was no one around, and I was panicking too hard to do anything.
I did that.
Whether intentionally or by accident didn't matter, because the boy was surely going to die.
I did that, I . . .
I killed.